


Trust

by hannigramcracker



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Gen, I mean it, M/M, Vomiting, mostly gen relationship wise, puke without plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 00:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16882188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannigramcracker/pseuds/hannigramcracker
Summary: After filming their "5 Weird Ways to Cure Nausea" video, Rhett is left reeling with the side effects. He's going to have to trust Link's way of trying to help.





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> In truth, this is completely inspired by repeated watching of 5 Weird Ways to Cure Nausea, GMM #1225.1. It's just a quick little thing. I'm sure there's a hundred more in the mind vault this tumbled out of.

“Click through to watch us try to cook a turkey in a baby pool…” 

 

Link trailed off, rubbing a hand up Rhett’s back. Rhett squirmed under the contact. He hadn’t exactly expected to feel this way after trying to  _ cure  _ nausea. 

 

Rhett groaned, leaning forward once the cameras stopped rolling, wrapping his arms around his upper stomach. Link’s hand slid to his lower back as one of Rhett’s hands flew to in front of his mouth in a knee jerk reaction to a surprise heave.  He coughed, a breathy moan coming up at the end. 

 

“Okay, I gotta take a break.” Rhett sounded breathless and pushed away from the Link. He was  stumbling off the set before Stevie could even give the okay. 

 

It took every bit of concentration Rhett had to put one foot in front of the other one and make it to his destination without running into too many miscellaneous props or crew members. But make it he did, and he closed the bathroom door behind him. His mouth was watering and the spit was  _ putrid.  _ It tasted like mayonnaise and burnt toast. The smell of the fart mask was lingering in his beard and  _ why  _ would they think this was ever going to be a good idea?

 

Rhett was suffering now, wishing that at least one of the cures had worked, wishing he had dragged that heating pad from the first round along with him, if only to strangle himself with the cord to be out of this misery. Rhett heaved, tasting thick mayonnaise on the back of his throat, but nothing came out. It was heave after dry heave and Rhett was panting before he knew it. 

 

He  _ hated  _ throwing up. 

 

He would do anything to stop the act, or at least delay it as long as possible. The feeling of something forcing its way back up his esophagus made his skin crawl. The thought had the backs of his cheeks stinging and his jaw going numb. A burp growled up his throat and Rhett writhed with the feeling of it, raising his shoulders and bracing hard against the sides of the sink. His legs were trembling and he could feel his stomach muscles contracting. His mouth hung open involuntarily, he couldn’t close it if he wanted to. He sucked his tongue between his molars and tried to swallow back the rapidly producing saliva, refusing to admit defeat. 

 

A dry retch that followed shortly after nearly had Rhett’s knees giving out under him. Shaking entirely now, he carefully lowered himself to the floor and crawled over to the closed toilet, a pain blooming sharp between his hipbones, deep within his spine. This new unpleasant sensation coupled with the cold biting into Rhett’s knees through his jeans made it even more miserable. 

  
  


Rhett folded his arms over the lid of the toilet, leaning his head down in them. Rhett felt dizzy, like he was moving, like he was somehow still jumping violently on that trampoline - a rough, short up and down. His arms felt like the were jerking with that stupid shake weight and it wasn’t helping his stomach calm in the slightest. Rhett heaved in a breath and blew the air out of his mouth, smooth and slow and from between clenched teeth. He repeated the action but cut off halfway through the second exhale with a vocal heave. It was forceful and had him scrambling to prop open the lid of the toilet, just in case. He caught a whiff of the mask on his beard when he moved and retched again, leaning so far into the toilet his nose nearly touched water and his knees slid seeking purchase. 

 

Drool started to collect inside his bottom lip and it slipped out in a thick line. Rhett spat to get rid of it, but all it did was connect the stream from his lip to the water, no matter how much he tried to dispel it. It tasted awful, like chalky charcoal and heavy grease. His stomach turned again and he retched so deeply his toes curled. A sob splashed off the surface of the water. 

 

Rhett was grunting into another heave when someone knocked on the door. He couldn’t hear over the sounds he was making echoing in the basin of the toilet. A whine escaped and it sounded pitiful even to Rhett’s own ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and tears slid down, dampening his sideburns. 

 

“Rhett? I’m coming in.” 

 

The door squeaked open and snapped quickly shut again. Rhett didn’t move from his position, hovering over the open toilet. He heard someone crossing the room with barely any awareness. He could only hope it wasn’t Stevie coming in to check on him.

 

“Easy, brother.”

 

Rhett recognized the whisper, and he moaned in almost relief. “ _ Link _ .” 

 

Link was kneeling next to Rhett, cramming his body into the small space, splaying a hand against Rhett’s back. Rhett leaned back into the touch, relaxing some of his weight on Link before saliva continued to pool inside his mouth. He stuttered in a breath and leaned forward once again, choking out a painful sounding retch. Rhett’s face was red from the strain and sweat beaded against his forehead. 

 

The retch was empty, yet again, complete torture to Rhett’s now abused throat. Rhett reached up to scrub at his face, wiping away flecks of saliva that had caught in his mustache. 

 

“Have you been sick at all yet?” Link asked, Rhett could tell he was side eyeing the empty toilet before him. 

 

Miserably, Rhett shook his head. “Nothing’s comin’ up.”

 

As if to prove the point, a tight hiccup bust past his lips and Rhett leaned forward to open his empty mouth again, only short pants coming out. 

 

“I  _ hate  _ this.” Rhett moaned. “I feel so sick. I can’t stand throwing up.” 

 

He sounded terrible, his voice was clipped and strained. Link hummed in sympathy and reached around from Rhett’s back to wrap around his tender middle. Link spread his fingers against Rhett’s stomach, applying just a slight bit of pressure to the swell there. Rhett whined as Link pressed against the tight and shaking muscles. He gagged on nothing, raising one hand to cup under his mouth again, even though he was suspended over the toilet. 

 

Still nothing came forward but a watery burp, not even any bile. It sounded and felt closer to an actual heave of substance, but Link’s gentle pressure wasn’t enough. Rhett rocked back on his hips, ignoring the twinge of protest in his back, a thready moan spilling from his lips, punctuated by another sharp grunt. “I want this to be  _ over _ .” Rhett whined. 

 

Link was silent behind him, shifting his hand on Rhett’s stomach to someplace a little higher. Rhett clenched his eyes shut. It  _ hurt _ . His stomach was so tense, hard as a rock, bubbling angrily. 

 

“Rhett...do you want me to help?” 

 

Rhett couldn’t help but nod wildly. He had no idea what Link could possibly do to  _ help  _ but all Rhett wanted was relief. His insides were squeezing and the pain was poker-hot. He would do nearly anything if it gave him a reprieve, if it stopped his stomach from turning over itself and rebelling against his digestive system. 

 

“You trust me, brother?” Link asked, and Rhett tore his gaze from the bowl of stagnant water to look into Link’s earnest eyes. Of course he trusted him. He said as much, voice slurred almost beyond recognition, the dizziness from earlier returning. “You’re not gonna like this. It’s gonna suck.” 

 

“Already sucks.” Rhett groaned, and Link nodded resolutely. 

 

Rhett closed his eyes and almost jumped back in shock when Link pressed two of his fingers against Rhett’s slightly parted lips. His eyes bulged open and he reached a hand up to circle around Link’s wrist, pulling him back. But Link held fast, locking Rhett’s eyes again. 

 

“You have to trust me or this isn’t going to work.” 

 

Rhett relaxed his jaw and gagged slightly at the feeling of Link’s fingers against his tongue. His fingertips were now slicked with Rhett’s thick saliva and slid forward in Rhett’s mouth with ease. Rhett’s mind buzzed, he almost thought this could feel pleasurable in an entirely different context. But before that thought could fully form itself, Link was dipping his fingers into the back of Rhett’s throat and Rhett was gagging harshly. It sounded painful, Rhett’s vocal cords constricting on their own. 

 

Link’s fingers backed out, still hanging hot in the cavern of Rhett’s mouth, and allowed him to catch his breath for just a moment. Rhett was lurching forward on an abortive heave, Link’s fingers pressing and holding his tongue down. Link followed the motion back into Rhett’s throat again and spread them just a touch. This action sent Rhett into a spasms of coughs and chokes, his own fingers still in a white knuckled grip around Link’s wrist. He wouldn’t be surprised if he saw bruises there starting to form tomorrow. 

 

Rhett was belching more frequently, bile splashing in the back of his throat, just enough to slick Link’s fingers even more. Link pressed just a touch further, Rhett’s throat  _ burned _ and he retched with finality. A splash of bile came up, coated Link’s hand and ran down his palm. Rhett could feel it dripping to where his hand was clasped, seeping between his fingers. The sensation had him heaving again, loudly, and more acidic bile sprung forth. It burned something terrible coming up Rhett’s throat and felt hot trailing down to Link’s elbow.

 

After that, Rhett couldn’t stop. The bile came up by the mouthful and Link removed his hand from Rhett’s mouth, releasing a palmful of sick with a splash into the toilet. It smelled high and sour and had Rhett gagging yet again, actual stomach contents climbing up his throat. 

 

The toast was dry and scratched his already tender trachea, it tasted like charred wood and breathing in a campfire. Rhett had wadded his bites up into half chewed balls and the undigested chunks were coming up in much of the same way. 

 

It was slow and Rhett found himself wishing he had gotten to drink a cure in their test, if only to ease the rest of the contents of his stomach out of him. 

 

Rhett hung over the toilet, Link hovering beside him, offering him encouragement and tactile comfort, both of which Rhett could not get enough of. He was sweating, clammy, felt like he was dying and purging everything out from inside his body. 

 

He could feel it when the toast gave way to the four terrible spoonfuls of mayonnaise. The change in texture making him gag even deeper. It crawled up his throat, slowly and laboriously. Rhett let out a nauseous huff of a breath while he wanted for it to come into his mouth. The spit at the back of his throat continued to gather under his tongue, tasting metallic and tangy. 

 

It came up in three heavy mouthfuls, three strenuous heaves that slopped sickeningly into the toilet. Rhett spat forcefully, trying desperately to get the taste and texture out of his mouth. He gagged again, but it was empty. He had nothing left to give. 

 

“ _ Oh  _ gosh.” Rhett moaned, panting. “Fuck.” 

 

“You’re okay, brother. I’ve got ya.” Link whispered, reaching over Rhett to rip some toilet paper from the roll. 

 

Rhett turned his face to watch him, and Link cleaned away the bits of sick that had caught and stuck in his beard. He folded the wad of toilet paper and wiped down his arm, sloughing away Rhett’s thick and cooling saliva. Rhett cringed and looked away, a shiver twisting his stomach. Link tossed the paper into the toilet and flushed it as Rhett finally leaned back. 

 

Exhausted from heaving, all Rhett wanted was to curl up right here on the floor, but Link was prodding him, beckoning for him to move. Rhett grunted in protest, but followed Link back to the sink of the bathroom, obediently rinsing his mouth out. It stuck stubbornly to the back of his through, but it was an improvement at least. 

 

Link led him to their office, to a small couch that was nestled next to their desk, barely room for it, but it was a necessity for times like these alone. Rhett melted into the couch, the familiar smells of it comforting. He was already feeling better, feeling still, feeling like his stomach was going to stay put for the long haul now, but still wanting desperately to sleep. 

 

“I’ll tell Stevie we’ll be back on set in twenty minutes. You close your eyes, and I’ll be right back.” Link said to Rhett, sounding like a concerned mother hen. Usually, it was the other way around and something inside of Rhett grew warm at the reversal. 

 

He said nothing, just nodded and let his eyes flutter closed, not opening them again until Link came back with a soft voice and a cool glass of water. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading let's be pals <3


End file.
